Love, Play, Eat
by Vplasgirl
Summary: Post episode for the Two Mrs Grissom. After the rough week Sara had, Gil comes home unexpectedly. Three-part story.
1. Love

RATING: M (For a little nooky.)

PAIRING: Grissom and Sara

SPOILERS: Post episode for The Two Mrs. Grissom

DISCLAIMER: The story is mine, but the characters are the property of A. Zuiker and CBS.

A/N: There were so many themes in "The Two Mrs. Grissom", the long-distance marriage, Sara's relationship with her mother-in-law, the secrets Gil keeps, and of course, the great sex, that I couldn't tackle them all in one short story. Also, I've wanted to explore their back-story for a very long time, so I'll touch on it briefly in this three parter: "Love, Play, Eat", which I hope will do justice to this wonderful episode that two very talented CSI writers gifted to us GSR fans.

**Love, Play, Eat**

**Part I - Love**

When Gil's cab pulled up in front of his house, there was a scattering of pink clouds on the horizon. The sun would eventually rise above them and warm up the city, but not for a while yet. The air was cool, barely 40 degrees, but blessedly dry, a welcome relief from Peru's almost constant January rain fall.

His monthly visits from South America usually began with Sara meeting him at the airport, but this time, Gil wanted to surprise her. He had missed his scheduled trip a few days before, and although she hadn't complained, he knew he had disappointed her. But that wasn't what had compelled him to rush to the airport and board the next plane to the States. Learning that she'd had a very difficult week, and why, had accomplished that.

Sara had been stingy with the details, but in a troubling email, his mother had not. Filled with remorse for having toed the line of disrespect towards his wife, his mother had written to ask for his advice on how to make it up to her.

"_...I hope that Sara will forgive me," _she wrote._ "As much as a mother never wants to see her son hurt, I don't want to lose you. If this strange marriage of yours is what you want, then I'll stop meddling in your affairs." _

Gil snorted a little at that, though not unkindly. Betty Grissom's controlling personality was legendary. To keep her out of his affairs, he had mastered the art of keeping secrets at a very young age. His mother genuinely believed she knew what was best for him, and she wasn't above an _'I told you so'_ either. Unfortunately, her heart had been set on him marrying Julia, a woman she held in high regard, a nice enough woman, Gil had grudgingly admitted after their first date, but he wasn't attracted enough to her to sustain a long-term relationship. Nevertheless, as the years passed, his mother's heart had remained steadfastly in Julia's camp, so that when he announced he was marrying Sara, a woman she barely knew, the weight of her disappointment would have been crushing had he not been expecting it.

To spare Sara's feelings, knowing that in time his mother would come to love her, he kept her disappointment, and later her criticisms about their unconventional marriage, to himself. In light of the week's events, that was one secret he shouldn't have kept. With him being away so much, Sara and his mother hadn't had many opportunities to get to know each other, let alone bond. She was totally unprepared for learning about Julia and his mother's opinion of their marriage.

As he inserted his house key into the lock, Gil sucked in a breath to calm the flutter in his stomach. He definitely wasn't spending enough time with his wife if the anticipation of seeing her still made him this jittery. Not that it was an unpleasant feeling.

Hank met him at the door. "Hey boy," he whispered as he stooped to pet the dog's head. Hank danced excitedly around Gil's legs, whimpering his pleasure as he stroked the boxer's brown and white snout. Gil put his travel bag down on the floor and gave the dog a rough rub. "You miss me boy? Huh? Where's mommy? Is she sleeping?"

Hank danced another circle around him before quickly taking the stairs down to the bedroom. At the door, he stopped, panting, and waited for Gil to catch up. "Good boy. Go to your bed, now." As the dog obediently left for the large blue cushion in a corner of the study, he quietly entered the room and went to sit on the side of the bed where his wife was sound asleep.

Sara didn't know it, but he still wanted to pinch himself sometimes to make sure it wasn't a dream; that she really was his wife. He had waited his entire life to find someone he could connect with the way he had with her; it disheartened him now that after all the obstacles they had overcome to be together, their time as a couple consisted of a few stolen days each month in between assignments.

Gil kept those feelings to himself. Sara seemed happy with the arrangement, and if every time she bragged about how well their unconventional marriage worked he felt a little more alone, he kept that to himself too. But watching her sleep now, sprawled on her side with her arms tightly hugging his pillow, something twisted in his chest, and he wondered if perhaps his wife was keeping secrets of her own.

With a sigh, he took off his jacket and tossed it on the chair near the bed. Sara stirred, and then burrowed deeper into his pillow. Even in slumber, she never seemed entirely at rest. As he thought of kissing away the twin lines between her brows, he was reminded of the first time he had watched her sleep. It seemed a lifetime ago now, but he vividly remembered the feelings that had made him want to get the hell out of San Francisco and never look back.

And that was pretty much what he did, except for the never-look-back part. Try as he might, he couldn't get her out of his mind. How could he forget a woman who stirred him intellectually, physically, and made him feel like he could make the sun rise?

He smiled to himself. He fought a good fight, but he hadn't stood a chance.

The blanket had ridden down her slim body, as it often did when she wore the satin nightdress he had given her last Christmas. She said she liked the feel of it against her skin. He liked the feel of it against his hands. He particularly liked removing it. For now, though, he caressed her hip and she began to wake up. She stretched and slowly opened her eyes, and then started a little.

"Gil?" She abruptly sat up. "What are you doing here?"

"Is that a way to greet your husband?"

She smiled and threw her arms around his neck. He took her into his arms and for a long moment, held her close. "I'm so glad you're here," she muttered into his shoulder, making him smile. He loved coming home.

"I missed you," he said, and she drew back to look at him. Her eyes were moist. "Are you okay?"

She nodded and sighed. "I just...need you sometimes."

"Only sometimes?"

Sara shook her head and kissed him, a long anticipated and familiar press of lips against his. Yet, it still managed to give his heart a jolt. And, as usual since their self-imposed separation, what started out as a simple kiss hello quickly became much more urgent and arousing.

His hands gripped her hips and slid up to her waist, taking the nightdress with them to reveal the brief, lacy panties underneath where his fingers itched to play. Pressing her down on the sheets, he lowered his mouth to her abdomen; kissed between her breasts, teased her nipples through the sheer satin of her gown until she was moaning her pleasure. As he slipped the nightdress over her head, he knew that as long as he lived, he would never tire of looking at her, never have enough of the sensations he experienced with her. His fingers tangled in her hair and he lowered his head to capture her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss until his breath felt heavy and he broke it off, panting.

"God, I love this. I love you," he said, and Sara reached down and stroked the evidence of his desire through his trousers. It was all the encouragement he needed to hop out of bed and strip off his clothes.

And as the sun dried the clouds over Vegas with the promise of a warm afternoon, all was quiet in the house except for their sighs of pleasure as Gil proved to his wife just how much he had missed her.

XXXXX

While Sara had her turn in the shower, Gil was in the kitchen, in his robe, whistling a happy tune as he filled Hank's bowl with the premium dog food she preferred over the cheaper bulk brand he used to feed him. "Nothing too good for you, hey boy?" he said, giving his dog an affectionate pat. As Hank wolfed down the reportedly tasty morsels—Gil would take the producer's word for it—he refilled the water bowl and disposed of the can.

He had just put the water on to boil for some tea and dropped four pieces of bread in the toaster, when the house phone rang. It was the phone company's Relay Service Operator asking to speak to Sara. "She's not available at the moment, but I'll take the call," he said. "Hi mom!"

While he waited for the operator to relay his message, and then his mother's response, he plated a chunk of cheese and some fruit, and then popped a grape into his mouth.

"Gil! Why didn't you tell me you were coming home so soon?"

"It was a last minute decision," he said, adding the cheese platter to the breakfast tray. "I just got home a little while ago."

He added aromatic tea leaves to a two-cup pot and poured the hot water over them. Then, with the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, he buttered the toast.

"Well I'm glad. I was calling to ask Sara out to dinner at Battista's tonight. They have a lot of meatless dishes."

Gil smiled, touched by his mother's thoughtfulness. He wasn't overly worried about the two most important women in his life hitting it off once they got to know each other better. His mother could be uncompromising, but Sara had patience and kindness to spare.

"She's in the shower," he told her as he put the final touches to their breakfast tray, "but I'm sure she'd like to see you. Why don't you come over and have dinner with us? We're making pasta this afternoon."

Just then, he heard the water shut off and he carried the tray into the bedroom. He set it down on the night table and went into the bathroom just as Sara was stepping out of the shower, wonderfully naked.

"Mom," he mouthed, pointing at the phone. "I asked her to join us for dinner."

"Oh, okay," Sara said. She reached for a bath towel and wrapped it around her body. As she turned around to grab a smaller towel for her hair, Gil sneaked up behind her and pulled her back against him. She angled him a quick grin over her shoulder and he dropped his head to inhale all the wonderful fragrances she used on her body and in her hair.

He brushed his lips against her cheek as the Relay Operator said: "I'd love to. I'll bring dessert."

"We'll see you later then, mom. Bye." After officially ending the call and thanking the operator, he watched Sara vigorously towel-dry her hair for a moment before taking over with a gentler touch.

"Mom called for you. She wanted to invite you out to dinner."

"Really?" Sara looked understandably stunned. "Well, that's a first."

"She's really trying to make amends for her behaviour this week. I hope you don't mind that I invited her to join us for dinner."

"Of course not."

Gil carelessly disposed of the towel on the toilet seat and drew her into his arms. "Come back to bed with me."

Sara smiled and planted a hand on his chest to gently push him away. "I know you like to make up for lost time, but if you want to be awake for your mother this afternoon, you should probably get a couple of hours' sleep."

"There's time. I want us to talk first," he said, watching her drape both towels on the towel rack to dry.

Sara pursed her lips in amusement. "Talk, huh?"

"Yes, talk. It's highly recommended in a marriage."

Now she looked intrigued. "Okay," she said slowly as she slipped into her robe. "Anything in particular you want to talk about?"

"Yes. Us."

She frowned and looked at him for a long moment. "I figure you told your Mom to give me the African violets, which means...you were in contact with her before our video call. What did she tell you about what happened this week?"

"We'll get to that later. First," he grabbed her hand and led her out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. "I made us some breakfast. It's been a while since we had breakfast in bed." He smiled as he recalled one particularly memorable morning in a Paris hotel room. He could tell by the wicked look in her eyes that she was remembering it, too.

"Oh look, no strawberries or chocolate syrup. What are we to do, monsieur?"

Gil hooked an arm around her waist and tossed her down on the mattress. He then crawled in over her and kissed her soundly on the mouth. "This morning, Madame Grissom," he said, mimicking how the French pronounced his name, and then continued with the playful accent, "we eat toast, drink tea, and talk. Then, I sleep."

Laughing, Sara got out from under him, arranged a couple of pillows against the headboard and sat back as he set the tray on the mattress between them. He propped himself up on an elbow and handed her a cup of tea.

They were quiet for a long moment as they ate, and then Sara caught his gaze, a question in her eyes.

"What?"

"Does it bother you that I kept my maiden name?"

"No. I already told you that."

"I think it bothers your mom."

"Well, many things bother my mother."

"Including you marrying me instead of Julia?"

He looked up at her, what was left of his appetite suddenly gone. He threw the rest of his toast onto the tray and wiped his hands clean. "She told you that?"

"Not in so many words, but she obviously prefers her, and I doubt she'd be so critical of your marriage if you were married to Julia."

Gil didn't think that was true, but it wasn't the point. "Look, as much as I wish my mother would stop meddling in my life, I know she means well, and—" he hesitated before proceeding warily, "—in this case, I happen to agree with her."

He heard her soft gasp, and the color seemed to leave her face.

"What? What's wrong?"

"You prefer Julia, too?"

"No. Honey. God no. I meant our living arrangements."

"Oh—of course." She made a show of looking unaffected, but he could see the color slowly returning to her cheeks. "I thought you liked it better this way. When we worked together, it didn't really matter if you spent a few extra hours at the office because we were together pretty much all the time. But in Paris, when I wasn't working and you were at the Sorbonne, I knew you felt bad about leaving me alone so much. So when you encouraged me to come back here, I figured it was because you didn't want to feel pressured to be home all the time."

"The only reason I encouraged you to come back here is because I knew how bored you were with nothing to do in France. I wanted you to be happy."

Sara gave an exasperated sigh and moved the tray to the night table. "Please tell me that we haven't been apart for the past year because of a misunderstanding?"

"Does that mean you don't want us to live apart either?"

She nodded.

"And all that bragging about how special we are because we don't need to live together?"

"Posturing. I thought it was what you wanted to hear."

"Hmm. Do you do that a lot; tell me what you think I want to hear?"

She gave him a charming look and drawled, "No," in such a way that he didn't believe her at all. He'd have to get to the bottom of that later.

For now, he said, "Come here," and drew her down into his arms. "There's a teaching position here in town that I've been considering. I would be home most of the year, and could still take on the occasional consulting job during the summer. You could even travel with me sometimes and still keep your job at CSI if that's what you wanted."

"What do you want?"

"Simple. I want to see my wife more than four days a month."

"I want that, too." She nestled deeper into his arms. "I guess your mother was right. We can all learn something from our elders."

"Well, yeah, but let's not tell her."

He felt her smile against his shoulder. For a long moment, she was quiet and he hoped that she would sleep awhile with him. He never rested well on planes at the best of times, but a cranky baby on his row had made sure of it this time. The layers of thick curtains at the window kept the room dark enough to sleep during the day and Gil closed his eyes. He couldn't remember when he had stopped needing his space in order to breathe, but now he breathed easiest with her arms lovingly wrapped around him. And just as he felt himself beginning to doze off, Sara started fidgeting.

"You can't sleep?"

She shook her head. "Why didn't you tell me about Julia?"

He let out a long breath. "It was a brief thing a few years back. It meant more to my mother than it did to Julia and me, I assure you. I suppose I should have told you, especially since she and my mother are close, but I didn't want you to think—," he broke off abruptly. He wanted to be completely honest with her from now on. "Look, I started dating Julia right after we met. My mother had been trying to get us together for a while and when I came back from San Francisco, it seemed like the sane thing to do."

"Sane? I don't understand."

"I wanted to...move on. Forget you."

"Baby, we kissed, once, and then you said goodbye."

"I know. But you mattered a little too much for my peace of mind. Julia was supposed to be a diversion, but in retrospect, my heart wasn't really into it. The relationship didn't progress beyond a few dates."

"I still wish you'd told me about her. Finding out about your intimate relationship with another woman in interrogation in front of Brass...I wanted to crawl into a hole."

"Intimate?"

"She made sure I knew you slept together."

"Well, we didn't." Sara tipped her head up and looked at him, clearly surprised. "We came close, but not until a couple of years later when I ran into her at my mom's school and she asked me out. You were seeing that paramedic and I was—"

"Jealous."

"Okay, have it your way. But in my defence, you had led me to believe you only had eyes for me." Sara chuckled. They'd had this conversation before. "Anyway, she invited me to her place for dinner and I fully intended to stay for breakfast, but I got called in to work when a cab driver accidentally hit a kid and a mob beat him to death. Remember? You worked the case with me." She nodded. "Julia was pissed off, and I didn't really care, so that was the end of that."

Sara sighed. "She made it sound so much more...involved than that, and since you never mentioned her I had to wonder why."

"I'm sorry for not telling you about her. I promise, if I ever not sleep with another woman again, you'll be the first to know." Sara laughed and pinched him lightly around the waist. "Hey."

Ignoring his playful protest, she dropped a quick kiss on his mouth and said, "Get some sleep while I go to the market."

Gil wasn't ready to let her go. He sneaked a hand inside her robe and gently fondled her breasts. He felt himself harden in response to her soft skin, her firm nipples. "You know what would help me sleep?"

Sara moaned low in her throat. He could tell she was tempted and to further his goal, he covered her mouth with an indecent kiss. When he drew back, she gave him a coquettish grin and said, "How can I help?"

END OF PART ONE


	2. Play

See disclaimer in Part I. Thank you, Jo for the quick beta.

* * *

**Love, Play, Eat**

**Part II – Play**

'_Play day'_ was a Grissom/Sidle tradition that began on their third date. Sara remembered it fondly. It was a Sunday, and Gil had asked her to spend it with him, at his home for the first time, on the condition that she made him the fresh pasta she had bragged about the night before over dinner at his favorite Italian restaurant.

Sara arrived with the ingredients and special utensils she needed for the dough, and while she laid everything out on the kitchen island, Gil had gone up to the den to put a record on the turn table. He insisted that digital technology didn't measure up to the more brilliant sound of needle on vinyl. Honestly, to this day, Sara couldn't tell the difference. What's more, she really didn't care much for most of his LP collection, although her fondness for Sinatra had shot to the moon that day when, in a bold move, Gil had twirled her around and swept her into his arms as he began singing slightly off-key along with the old crooner. Even though her hands were covered in flour and she had to hold them up as he danced her around the kitchen, she was too stunned, and much too pleased, to object.

Who knew Gil Grissom had a romantic gene?

Sara sighed wistfully as she recalled how, all of a sudden, he had stopped singing and dancing, and given her a look that made her heart, and time, stop. Their first and only kiss had happened so long before that all she could remember of it was how it had moved her. Unfortunately, no one could accuse Gil of being impulsive, so after seven years of secretly longing for him to kiss her again, the anticipation of it had seriously impeded her ability to breathe. And then, as though he couldn't wait a moment longer either, his mouth had crashed down on hers, and in a rush of joy and affection, she forgot everything but the feel of his arms around her and the taste and texture of his mouth as it moved over hers, so that when the song, and the kiss, ended, Gil had flour in his hair, in his whiskers, and even on the seat of his jeans.

In the space of an afternoon, he had made almost a decade of dreams come true. And later, amid nervous laughter, shy glances, exciting smiles and stolen touches, Sara had mixed a fresh batch of dough, and a tradition they had honored for almost two years, until circumstance had separated them, was born.

Their Sunday play date always involved the making of fresh pasta. Gil usually made the sauce either from a tried and true recipe or, if he were in an adventurous mood, from his imagination, while she worked her magic on the dough. They would open a fine bottle of wine, put one of his old LPs on the stereo, turn up the volume, and have fun.

And this was the afternoon Sara had been looking forward to until he invited his mother to join them.

Still, she went through the motions, and with a platter of antipasto and salad greens cooling in the refrigerator, and the dough ready to roll, she tip-toed into the bedroom to change into a new figure-hugging grey and black striped sweater dress. The dress was for her mother-in-law's benefit, but the stockings and garter she decided to wear underneath were entirely for Gil. And just to punish him a little for ruining their play date, Sara omitted the panties.

Smiling, she added the finishing touches to her make-up and swept her hair up into a loose ponytail as he slept. He had been right to invite his mother, and if it bothered her a little, it was only because the woman made her nervous, which was the point of the invitation. She and Gil may have been married for two years, but with the amount of travelling they did early on and then Gil being away so much, Sara could count on one hand the number of times the three of them had been in the same room together. It was past time she and Betty got to know each other, and it wouldn't hurt for Betty to get to know them as a couple either.

Glancing at her watch, Sara decided she could give her gorgeous husband another half-hour before waking him up. She quietly left the room and went up to the den to stack a few LPs on the old turn table; the first a Leonard Cohen record, which was much more to her liking, and then Mancini and Sinatra, to enjoy later.

She set the table using her best linens and pretty dishes to make up for the fact that they didn't have a formal dining room, only a small table barely big enough for four sitting in between the kitchen and the area where a dining-room would have been if it weren't for the walls of shelves and the two sideboards holding Gil's collections.

Back in the kitchen, she cut the stems off the flowers she had picked up at the market earlier, and was tucking the last of the colorful blooms into a small table arrangement when she heard a low wolf-whistle behind her.

She smiled and gave Gil a look over her shoulder. "Hey, you're up."

He came up behind her and dropped a kiss on her cheek. "Why didn't you wake me? Mom will be here soon."

"You needed your rest. Besides, I was just about to go in and do that."

His gaze swept over her. "You look nice. New dress?"

"Yep. You like?"

"Let's see..." He turned her into his arms and gently stroked her back. "Soft to the touch," he murmured close to her ear as his hands continued downward, past her waist and over her ass, and then abruptly stopped. He drew back and looked at her, then quickly slipped his hands under the hem of the short dress and hiked it up to reveal the black garter, sheer stockings, and nothing else. "Jesus, Sara!"

"So, you do like," she said, immensely satisfied with his reaction.

In response, he swiftly lifted her up and flopped her, bare-assed, on the countertop.

"Hey, I was about to roll out my pasta dough here."

"You should have thought of that before you decided to torment me."

Her laughter bubbled in her throat and then turned to moans of pleasure as Gil moved his hands up and down her legs. His thumbs stroked the sensitive skin inside of her thighs, higher and closer, teaching their own lesson about torment, until a firm sweep over her clitoris made her body buck. She gasped. "You do remember that your mother will be here any minute."

He pulled her head down, thrust his tongue into her mouth, and then stroked to the rhythm he had set with his fingers. Heat flashed through her belly, so fast, so intense, Sara had to grab hold of the edge of the countertop to hang on as he cleverly worked her to a quick orgasm. Heart pounding, hips rocking to his sinfully erotic beat, her breath caught as sensations pummeled her and she felt herself going over the edge in a mass of pulsating nerves. She threw her head back and the dog let out a loud bark, then made a ruckus as he came running out of the study, crashed into a chair, righted himself and continued past the kitchen and up the stairs to reach the front door a moment before the doorbell peeled.

"What the—"

"Shit!" Sara exclaimed as Gil's forehead fell to her breasts. His back heaved as he tried to catch his breath. Hank let out another bark as the doorbell sounded again. "Honey..."

"I can't yet. I need a minute."

Sara chuckled as she realized his predicament. "Poor baby," she said, running a quick hand through his hair before jumping off the counter; she pulled her dress down over her hips.

"Easy for you to say," he shot back.

She yanked open a drawer and grabbed the black apron with _'Don't mess with the chef!'_ stitched to the front in big white letters. "A little late on the warning," she quipped as she slipped the apron over his head then moved in closer to tie it behind his back. She gave him a quick peck on the lips and turned him around. "Now go let your mom in. I need to hit the bathroom."

XXXXX

SARA STARED AT herself in the mirror. There wasn't much she could do about her flushed cheeks without ruining her make-up, so she closed her eyes for a moment and breathed deeply to cool her body and settle her heart. Her brain, however, wasn't so easily controlled. It insisted on replaying the last ten minutes and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from chuckling aloud as she recalled how well her attempt at tormenting her husband had worked for her. And if she felt a little pang of guilt for leaving him aroused and unsatisfied, well...there wasn't much she could do about that at the moment.

Since it would be impolite to hide in the bathroom any longer than she already had, Sara quickly washed up and straightened her dress, then squared her shoulders as she marched out to the bedroom, only to stop before reaching the door. She turned back into the room and went to her dresser where she dug out a pair of sexless cotton panties and slipped them on, so when she joined Gil and his mother in the kitchen a moment later, she felt a little more like June Cleaver and a lot less like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct.

"Betty, hi!" she said, signing carefully as she spoke.

"Hello, Sara," her mother-in-law signed back. "Thank you for inviting me."

"Sit down, mom," Gil said, pointing to one of the tall stools on the other side of the kitchen island. He handed her a glass of red wine then poured one for Sara as he motioned to the cake bell at the end of the counter. Under the beautifully etched dome, there was a heart-shaped white cake. "Dessert," he said, signing as he spoke.

Sara smiled at her mother-in-law. "It looks great."

Betty signed something, too quickly for Sara to understand. Noticing her confusion, Gil interpreted. "It's a red velvet cake, for Valentine's Day. And the cake bell is for you to keep."

Sara had unconsciously blocked out the upcoming holiday from her mind, having resigned herself to spending it alone this year. Touched by her mother-in-law's thoughtfulness, she flattened her right hand against her lips and tipped it forward in Betty's direction. "Thank you."

Time was getting on, and there was still much to do to get dinner on the table. Sara's first task, however, was to clean the countertop, and as she liberally sprayed the surface with disinfectant, Gil gave her a heated, mirthful look that made her blush to the roots of her hair. Too late, she turned to the sink to hide her face from Betty, who Sara feared, was watching their interplay a little too closely.

As she wet the dish cloth, Gil came up behind her and wrapped an apron around her waist then looped the waist ties around her slim body back to the front, taking an inordinate amount of time making a bow. "Stop it!" she hissed. Fortunately, they were facing away from Betty, who Sara suspected was far more adept at reading lips than she let on sometimes.

His quiet laugh teased the hair at her temple. "You started it."

"And I'll gladly finish _'it'_ later, but only if you behave." She turned around with a pleasant smile for Betty, and wiped the counter with the wet cloth.

Gil took a good sized pot out for the clams, added a little water to it and set it on the stove while Sara floured the work surface to roll out the pasta dough, which had risen to a perfect plump ball.

Betty looked on, impressed. "When Gil said you were making pasta, I didn't think he meant it literally."

Gil signed to his mother with an ease Sara envied. "On our third date—"

"Our third date in this decade," Sara specified, and Gil signed it for her, despite giving her a mock glare at the deliberate barb.

"On our fifth date—"

"Although, I don't think we can call what we did in San Francisco _dating_."

"Will you let me tell the story?"

Sara grinned as she started spreading the dough with long, even rolls of the pin.

"As I was saying," Gil continued, "On our third date _in Vegas_, I took her to Battista's for dinner and she had the gall to critize Gianna's pasta."

Betty raised her brows in such a way that left no doubt that she and Gil shared familial alleles.

"It was a little tough," Sara defended.

"It was not. Anyway, when she said hers was better, I challenged her to prove it."

Gil cleared out an area of the counter and set up the food processor, a chopping board and the very expensive chef's knife Sara had cleverly left at his place on their second play date. Next came the ingredients for the sauce: garlic, sun dried tomatoes, and the best olive oil money could buy in Vegas.

His mother rapped her knuckles on the counter to get their attention. "And?"

"And what?" Gil asked.

"Is Sara's pasta better than Gianna's?"

Gil shrugged. "It's pretty good for an amateur."

Sara stopped rolling. "Excuse me?" She put the rolling pin down to sign the next part herself in her slow, but precise, ASL. "My pasta is good. It's real good. _He_ told me that my pasta is the reason he fell in love with me. So Gianna, wherever she is, can put that in her cannelloni and eat it!" Sara felt her lip twitch as she picked up the pin and continued rolling with increased determination as mother and son exchanged a strange look.

"What?"

"Shall I tell her?"

Sara looked at them both then sobered. "Oh, please tell me you didn't date Gianna, too?"

Gil laughed. "Be my guest, Mom."

"Gianna is seventy-six years' old. She started the restaurant with her husband when she was still a girl. Her grandson runs it now, but Gianna still comes in every day to make the pasta."

"Really?" Sara set the rolling pin aside and lifted the square of dough to test its elasticity, and satisfied that it was perfect, laid it back down on the counter. "Well, it wasn't that bad," she finally admitted as she began folding the dough for linguini. "I may have exaggerated a little." She glanced at Gil. "It was all your fault for going on and on about her genius."

Incredulously, he said, "You were jealous?"

Sara shrugged and pursed her lips. "Maybe. But it doesn't mean that I can't hold my own in the kitchen."

In a touching display of affection given their audience, Gil hugged her close and kissed her. "Honey, you can more than hold your own in any room." He released her and looked at his mother. "You'll be happy to know that Sara and I agreed on full disclosure from now on, so you see honey, if Gianna weren't seventy-six, and I had dated her, I would have had to tell you about her earlier."

Betty nodded her approval. "Honesty is as important as sex in a marriage."

Sara groaned.

"Mom, you're unnecessarily concerned about our sex life. As for keeping secrets, I'll have you know that Sara is as guilty as I am."

"I am not," she objected.

"So, you never say things because you think they're what I want to hear?"

She shook her head. "That's not the same as keeping secrets."

"Sure it is. Either way, it's withholding information."

Gil took the clams out of the refrigerator and went to dump them in the sink when Sara stopped him. "I scrubbed them earlier."

"Now this is why I fell in love with you."

She chuckled. "Because I clean your clams?"

Gil gave her a half nod, half shrug. "It's in the little attentions that you show me how much you care." He cleared his throat. "Now, in the interest of full disclosure, it's your turn."

"How do you figure that?"

"Well, you now know all about Julia and Gianna. It's only fair that you disclose two of your secrets." Sara looked at him, intrigued that he wanted to have this conversation in front of his mother. She picked up the wine bottle and topped off Betty's glass then her own. When she held the bottle up for Gil's glass, he said, "You're stalling."

"You're making Sara uncomfortable, Gil."

"It's okay, Betty." She knew Gil was just having fun with her, and as he had so rightly said, she could hold her own in any room. "There's a total of three things I haven't told you, but if you only want two, then so be it." Sara paused, gave him time to fear what was to come. He didn't disappoint. She knew her husband well. "First, your old LPs don't sound better than my CDs." He normally would have argued the point, but he seemed far too relieved by her innocuous first confession to say anything. Besides, she didn't give him a chance to respond. "And second, I don't like the dog's name."

"Hank?" he said, and upon hearing his name, the dog came running into the kitchen and looked up at Gil with big adoring eyes. Sara shook her head, smiling at their canine's weakness for his master's attention. She didn't know what it said about her that she fully understood his devotion. Gil fed the dog a biscuit and gave him an affectionate pat before commanding him out of the kitchen. "What's wrong with h-a-n-k?" he asked, as he rinsed his hands under the tap.

"Oh, think, Gil."

"The paramedic?"

"The paramedic has a name, even if you insist on never using it."

"I don't want to insult my dog," he returned, and Sara tried in vain to hold back a grin. She watched as he finished his very simple sauce in the food processor. "Besides, he came with that name and I didn't see the point of changing it only because—"

"I think of my ex-boyfriend every time you say it?"

"Oh, that's not good, Gil," Betty remarked.

Gil frowned. "You do?"

She only shrugged and he looked at her pensively. "Ugh," was all he said before dumping the clams in the pot and putting the lid on it. Sara shared a covert smile with her mother-in-law, and then started slicing the dough into narrow linguini strips. When she slid the blade of a long knife in the middle of the roll, Gil said, "Watch this, Mom. It's my favorite part."

She lifted the knife, and the pasta strips magically unfolded on the blade. Betty seemed to share her son's delight in the trick. Sara finished slicing the rest of the dough and set a large pot of water on the stove to boil.

Gil took the salad greens and antipasto platter out of the refrigerator and motioned for his mother to follow him to the dining area. He set everything down on the table, including the basket of bread Sara had carried over with another bottle of wine, and then held his mother's chair.

"Everything looks wonderful, Sara," Betty said when they were all seated.

Gil lit the two slim candles and refilled their wine glasses. "Wait 'till you taste her pasta, Mom. It really does put Gianna's to shame."

Sara smiled, pleased with his praise, despite having received the compliment many times before. Gil took her hand and brought it to his lips as his mother looked on, a glint of approval in her eyes. He returned Sara's hand to the table, and gave it a gentle squeeze before signing, "Let's eat."

END OF PART II


	3. Eat

See disclaimer in Part I. Thanks Jo for the quick (and late) beta!

* * *

**Love, Play, Eat**

**Part III – Eat**

By the end of the second course, Sara finally felt at ease with her mother-in-law. The food couldn't have been better, the wine had accomplished its expected task of relaxing her, and Mancini on the stereo was filling in the quiet spaces in conversation while they ate, as speaking required the use of both hands.

And now, with dessert and coffee on the table, Sara put her fork down to compliment Betty on her three-layer, red velvet cake.

"I've been making it for over fifty years," Betty signed slowly for her benefit. "When Gil was three, I made the mistake of telling him that it was red chocolate cake. He told me it couldn't be chocolate if it was red. When he was four, he asked me what made it red, and as soon as he could read, he explained how I could make the red food coloring with beets, but even without it, the cake would still be a little red because of the chemical reaction caused by the acid in the butter cream and the red pigments in the cocoa."

Sara chuckled. "After all these years, and I never knew that red velvet cake inspired you to become a scientist."

"I doubt it did. I'm pretty sure I was dissecting something before then."

Betty closed her eyes and gave an exaggerated shudder. "He was. And we won't talk about that at the dinner table." She took a dainty bite of cake then returned her fork to the plate. "How did you two meet? I assumed it was at work, but Gil told me he knew you before you went to work at the lab."

Sara nodded. "We met at a conference in San Francisco thirteen years ago."

Betty's eyes widened and settled on Gil. "So, it _wasn't_ love at first sight?"

"Well, if it wasn't love at first sight, by the end of that week, it was...something."

"Yeah, I remember you saying something along those lines at the time," Sara reminded him, although she recalled precisely what he had said, and what she had said that morning as she was leaving his hotel room. "And then I didn't hear from you again for weeks when you'd promised to send me your article on blood spatter artifact caused by flies."

"I still have it. Would you like a copy?"

"Gil," his mother said with her hands, but her smile held a gentle reprimand. "Seriously."

This proved that to a parent, a child remained a child, no matter his age. As Sara watched mother and son interact, she felt a pang of...something. Envy, maybe; regret for never having known what it was like to have a mother there to love you, comfort you; guide you when you needed it. Her formative years were marked by indifference and neglect at the hands of a mother whose illness made her emotionally unstable and withdrawn, and a father who had turned to alcohol to cope, a substance that had made him violent and eventually caused his death.

As a child, Sara's way of coping was to make herself as small as possible. If she didn't get in the way, then maybe she would make it through the next battle unscathed. Most of the time, she did.

Given the violent horror of her childhood, she was often surprised at how normal she had turned out when so many kids in that situation grew up to emulate their parents. Perhaps it was her innate sense of right and wrong that had guided her. Or maybe it was her strong will. Either way, what mattered was how far she had come, and how much she had accomplished. Not that any of it had come easily.

Least of all, her husband.

She looked at him over the rim of her coffee cup. She loved the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled; loved the sparkle in them that told her he was happy.

His eyes crinkled a lot lately.

"Okay, mom," he was saying. "Seriously, at first sight I was captivated by her legs."

Sara choked a little on her coffee and set the cup down. "You were not."

"It's true. I saw them first; before I saw...your face, even."

Betty's eyes crinkled much like her son's. "It's possible. Gil always was a leg man and you do have great legs."

It was an especially nice compliment coming from her mother-in-law, but it pretty much rolled off Sara like water off a duck's back at the more surprising news that her husband, who had never officially declared himself as such, was a leg man. Not that she had any problem believing it. For one, mothers tended to know these things, and two, she couldn't recall ever having attracted a boob man.

_Still..._ "Your first memory may be of my legs, hun, but you couldn't possibly have seen them before my face in that crowded bar."

"He picked you up in a bar?" Betty managed to express both surprise and disapproval in one swift hand gesture.

Gil chuckled. "In a sense, I did, mom, however, not in the way you think."

She raised a brow and waited for Gil's explanation.

"The annual Forensics Academy conference was at Hotel California in San Francisco that year. I got there in a record heat wave, and to make matters worse, the reservation system at the hotel was down and they couldn't check anyone in. I was a late replacement for the keynote speaker and needed to finish my speech, so I went to the bar to work."

Betty watched with rapt attention as Gil signed his version of how they met, which should have been the same as Sara's version, except that, apparently, there was a part involving her legs that he had never mentioned before.

She remembered wearing a short skirt that day because of the heat. It was shorter than what she would normally wear to a business function, but she had packed a light jacket to dress it up for the mixer later. She wouldn't have been staying at the hotel at all except that she had to move out of her apartment for a few days while her hardwood floors were being redone.

"Before long, the bar was very crowded and much too loud for concentration," Gil continued. "I was reconsidering a colleague's invitation to dinner—"

"From a Dr. Ann Longton," Sara interrupted. "An anthropologist. Gil has a thing for them." And because she enjoyed teasing her husband, she was accustomed to his mock glares; she returned this one with a cheeky smile.

"Anyway, I dropped her phone number on the floor and when I reached down to pick it up, this pair of very long, very exquisite legs walked past my table right in front of my nose."

"Really? So you didn't just happen to be standing in line behind me at the bar?"

"I wanted to see your face."

Sara laughed. "And '_Miss, do you have the time?'_ was the best you could come up with to make me turn around?"

Gil shrugged. "It worked."

Sara remembered glancing at her watch, fully intending to give him the time, when she turned around and looked up into the most arresting blue eyes she had ever seen. For a moment, she forgot all about the time, which was just as well, because she wasn't sure she remembered how to speak. She had felt an immediate pull of attraction towards him; the sensuous curve of his mouth; the dimple in his chin, which she found totally adorable. His polo shirt was unbuttoned, giving her a teasing glimpse of a muscular chest, which would have made her mouth water if it hadn't already been too parched to form saliva. Next she noticed his arms, strong and smooth—and he was wearing a watch!

The tired pick-up line disappointed her, but he was so gorgeous that she decided to cut him a break and answered _'yes'_. After a moment passed without further information, his brow went up and he asked whether she intended to share it with him.

"_I could be persuaded," she almost purred in a blatant flirt that seemed to surprise him, and with good reason, she thought. It was after all a very bad pick-up line._

_One corner of his mouth twitched, and she suddenly wondered what those lips would feel like on hers… _

"_All right. What time is it?"_

"_So you really want to know?"_

"_Why else would I ask?"_

"_Maybe, so you can tell me that you want to remember the exact moment we met, or something just as lame." He gave her this genuinely perplexed look that should have clued her in that she was making a colossal mistake, but her mouth, as usual, was running ahead of her brain. "It's the oldest pick-up line in the book."_

_His mouth dropped open and he blushed—which only made him look more adorable—but just as quickly he seemed to regain his composure. "You misunderstand, Miss. I really am only asking for the time, and I think the oldest pick-up line in the book is, 'What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?'"_

_If she could have crawled under a bar stool right then, she would have. She felt a rush of heat rise to her face, which only added to her embarrassment. "And there's no mistaking that one," she managed to say before glancing at his left wrist. "You're wearing a watch, so I assumed—"_

"_That the battery hadn't died on my way in from the airport, and that it's too hot outside to go looking for a new one? You know what they say about assuming?"_

_Sara nodded. "Honest mistake. I should have known…"_

"_What?"_

"_That you weren't trying to pick me up." _

_He bit the inside of his lip, but didn't quite manage to hide his amusement. And then, he tapped her arm gently and motioned behind her. "Your turn."_

_The bartender quickly masked an impatient scowl with a smile. "Oh. Sorry," she said. "I'll have a Ricard's Red, please."_

"_Make that a pitcher and two mugs," Blue Eyes said, and Sara threw him a look over her shoulder. He gave her an angelic smile. "Never assume."_

_He paid the bartender, grabbed the two mugs in one hand and the pitcher of beer in the other, and motioned to a table behind them. _

"_Will you join me?"_

How could she refuse?

"She was the most adorable girl I'd ever met," Gil told his mother.

"I was not. Betty, he's exaggerating. He never told me that before."

"Didn't I? I married you so you could have assumed it."

Sara smiled at him and didn't remind him that it had taken him eight years to propose. She pushed her empty dessert plate away. "All these years, you let me believe that our meeting was coincidental."

"Well, now you know, in the interest of full disclosure, of course."

What Gil didn't tell her, was how disappointed he was when he saw her face for the first time. She was pretty, perhaps prettier than he had hoped, or expected, but he hadn't expected her to be so young. Much too young for him. Still, there was something about her, something intangible that kept him near her when he knew he should walk away.

On his last night in San Francisco, after a week of conference hall food, and quick bites at local diners and coffee shops, he took her out to an upscale restaurant on the waterfront. Sara always had a million questions, so they never ran out of conversation. It made her very easy to be with. That night, on a terrace by the bay with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background, they discussed the value of a mentor. As he was telling her about Dr. Phillip Gerard, the man who had been his, it suddenly occurred to Gil that, while he was letting her get under his skin, her interest in him may have only been as a potential mentor.

And then he thought: what if it was? It wasn't as if he could have an affair with her. He had already decided that she was too young; besides, they lived four hundred miles apart.

That sound reasoning, however, didn't do him a bit of good when they returned to the hotel and he couldn't bring himself to say goodbye to her. So, he asked her to join him at the bar for a nightcap, and when the bar closed, he told her he had a well-stocked mini-bar in his room.

They talked into the wee hours of the morning, until Sara dozed off on his couch, mid-conversation. He knew he should wake her up and see her to her room. Instead, he slipped a pillow under her head and covered her up with a blanket, and then drew on every ounce of restraint he could muster to stop himself from kissing her awake and seducing her into bed.

He was bewitched.

He spent the rest of the night sitting in a chair, watching her sleep. And the next morning, when it was time to leave, it was with as much sorrow as relief that he saw her off.

He remembered her hesitating at his door and timidly asking if she had imagined things or if he— She hadn't finished the question; she didn't have to. He knew what she meant and he told her that she hadn't imagined anything. Then, to prove it, and because he really wanted to, he kissed her. It wasn't the kind of kiss that could be mistaken for friendly. It lasted too long for that. Yet, it wasn't a lover's kiss, either, although with Sara's response, it very nearly became one. He couldn't handle anything more, so he stepped back and told her that they were much farther apart than mere geography. She didn't ask him to elaborate; she knew he meant their age difference. Besides, he didn't do romantic relationships well, he told her, _'but I do make an excellent friend.'_ So they parted as friends. They exchanged business cards and promised to keep in touch, and he carried the memory of her dimpled smile and dark eyes for over a year.

And it would be many more years before he got that the feelings he had for her wouldn't magically go away just because he thought they should.

When Sara chuckled at something his mother was saying, he realized he'd let his mind wander. He picked up his mom's hand signs mid-conversation. "—so when I saw how young you were, I thought, perfect! My Gil will finally give me a grandchild."

_Oh, mom! Not that... _

A twinkle entered Sara's eyes. "Well, in the interest of full disclosure..."

Gil dropped his dessert fork.

"Joking," Sara said quickly. She laid a hand on his arm. Then, noticing his mother's open-mouth, startled look, she signed, "Sorry, it was a joke."

He let out a long breath, and his reaction seemed to amuse Sara, but until the pounding in his chest stopped, he wasn't inclined to find her joke funny.

They had talked about children once, but in very general terms. Not as an option for them. He might have liked a son or daughter when he was younger, but that time had passed. He was much too old to start a family now. Sara, on the other hand, had never imagined herself a mother. She had even joked at the time about how she must have been out climbing a tree the day the mothering instinct was being handed out.

Now Gil wondered if that was what she really felt, or what she thought he wanted to hear?

"Gil told me that you're originally from San Francisco. Does your family still live there?"

He forced himself to pay attention as the conversation switched to Sara's family, which made him just slightly less edgy than talking about grandchildren.

"Yes. I mean my mother still does," Sara replied.

"I'm surprised that she wasn't at your wedding. San Francisco is not that far away."

"Her mother still lives in San Francisco, mom, but her father passed away—"

Sara touched his hand. "It's okay. Let me."

They had expected the questions to come eventually, but in retrospect, Gil wished he had already told his mother the horrific details of Sara's past and spared her the awkwardness of having to explain it herself.

"My mother is ill. She was diagnosed with—" When she broke off, Gil started signing for her. "—schizophrenia in her early twenties. She and my father had a very…tumultuous relationship, and when he drank, he became violent. One day, she'd had enough and stabbed him to death." His mother gasped, and Sara's lips twisted. "I know. My mother spent most of her life in and out of mental health facilities. I was raised in foster care, so I never saw much of her. She's hardly aware of who I am anymore, so you see, Gil is my family now."

His mother leaned over and gripped Sara's hand. "I am so sorry."

"It's okay. It was a long time ago."

"Still, it couldn't have been easy growing up without a mother."

_Let it go, mom._ Gil willed his mother to look at him, to see that he wanted her to change the subject. She didn't.

"I have always wished for a second child," she continued, "a daughter, but it wasn't meant to be. You and I have not had an easy relationship, and that's my fault. But I do hope that eventually you will also think of me as your family."

"I already do." Emotion trembled in Sara's voice. She blinked then hastily got up and started clearing the table. While she carried the plates to the kitchen, his mom briefly laid a hand over his.

"She's a lovely woman, son. You chose very well."

"I know. Thanks, mom."

"I will go, now. Give you two some time alone."

Gil nodded and they got up from the table. When Sara turned from the sink, he was handing his mother her handbag.

"Are you going already?" she signed. "It's still early."

"You and Gil don't spend enough time together as it is. I don't want to intrude any longer."

Sara shot Gil a glance and he gave her an imperceptible nod. "We meant to tell you. Gil's coming home for good in a few weeks. He's planning to teach locally—"

The next thing he knew, his mother had him in a fierce hug. He laughed a little and gave Sara a helpless look before casually easing himself out of her persistent grip. "The really good news, mom, is that you won't have to worry about my sex life anymore."

She gave him a playful slap on the arm then held on to it as he took her up the stairs to the door.

Sara got her wrap from the hall closet and handed it to her.

"Thank you, dear. And don't be a stranger. We don't have to wait for Gil to get together."

"I'll call you," she said, and then kissed her cheek.

Gil did the same. "Bye, mom."

"Bye," his mother waved, and as soon as the door closed, Gil drew Sara into his arms and gave her a resounding kiss.

"Now that went very well, don't you think?"

"Very."

Gil took her hand and started for the living room. "Let's sit for a while."

"Now? Have you forgotten the state of the kitchen?"

"It can wait. Come on. I want us to talk."

Sara smiled at him as he led her to the couch. "You're uncommonly talkative this trip, hun."

Gil sat beside her and stretched his legs out on the coffee table. He put his arm around her. "I don't want to lose you."

She looked startled. "Okay. Where is this coming from?"

"I want you to be happy. If that means having a baby, well, we can do that."

Sara laughed. "I'm sorry about that crack earlier. I was just kidding around—" She broke off, frowned. "Do you want a baby?"

Gil shook his head. "I'll admit that if I were younger, I'd love to have a child with you." What he wouldn't admit to was the twinge of natural excitement he had momentarily felt at the thought of having impregnated her. It was purely biological and paled in significance to his simultaneous, and equally natural, near-panic attack when she joked about it.

But it was also natural for Sara to want to be a mother, and he didn't think it would be fair to deny her that opportunity if she had decided she wanted it after all.

"You're still young enough to have a baby, Sara, and I wouldn't want to deprive you of that—"

She touched his hand. "You're not. Maybe it's because of my upbringing, but honestly, I never wanted kids. Thanks for offering, though. It means a lot."

Gil drew her closer and they sat quietly for a while. Hank came up and stretched out in his favorite corner. A boxer's eyes always looked sad, Gil thought, and at that moment, they seemed to reflect his own emotions. He knew it would pass, but for now, Gil allowed himself a moment of grief over missed opportunities.

At the same time, he was relieved that they had finally put the matter of children to rest.

He dropped a kiss on Sara's temple. "So, if that wasn't your third secret…"

"Ah…so that's what this is about," she said lightly. "You know, we don't have to do this all in one day."

"Your reluctance, Mrs. Grissom, tells me that this one is more serious than my tastes in music."

Sara sighed. "It's nothing. It's just… A few years ago, when you were having your thing with Sofia—"

"I never had a _thing_ with Sofia."

"Okay, a flirtation or whatever it was—"

"All for your benefit, my dear."

"Yeah, well…" Sara was suddenly on her feet. Hank reacted, got up, watched her as she maundered, looked out the window.

Scared him.

"Honey?"

As though resigning herself to the inevitable, she let out a long breath, came back, and slouched down on the couch. "I probably should have told you this before, but it had nothing to do with you." She snickered. "That's not true. It had everything to do with you. I was so sick of watching you flirt with her. Sofia. The years I waited for you to do something about us and then in she walks and it didn't matter that she was also much younger than you or that she was your subordinate. I was pissed off and I'd had enough of putting my life on hold for you, so when Greg asked me out, I said yes."

The fact that Gil had already suspected as much didn't make the news any easier to swallow. Greg. He possessed so many qualities Gil never had or never could have anymore. Hip. Carefree. Young.

He had always known that Greg had a thing for Sara, but it never worried him until…

"Was that before or after you checked him out in the decontamination shower?" Gil winced at his tone, and so did Sara.

"So you know about that."

"I overhead you two talking about it. You sounded quite impressed with what you saw."

Chuckling, she said, "You're not going to be jealous of Greg now."

"I was always jealous of Greg."

She smiled. "You know, I think I knew that."

"Did you, uh… sleep with him?"

Sara shook her head, and Gil let out a lungful of air. "I think we both knew before we even went out that we could never be more than friends."

"So, that was it?"

"Pretty much. Don't get me wrong. I like Greg, and I think he's quite attractive in his way, but my heart was never mine to give to him."

Gil caught her chin between his fingers, tipped her face up, and tenderly kissed her. Several guys at work had flirted with her over the years, but Greg was the only one he had ever considered a threat. Without realizing it, maybe he had never stopped, although he trusted Sara. He trusted Greg.

"So, are we done with the full disclosure portion of the evening?" Sara asked teasingly.

"We are, unless there are more guys you haven't slept with you need to tell me about…"

Sara laughed and got to her feet. "Come on," she said, grabbing his hand. They went down the stairs to the kitchen, and then she stopped, looked around and let out a long sigh.

Gil opened the dishwasher. "You're tired. Why don't you go get ready for bed while I clean up?"

"You're a prince among men."

He shrugged. "It's only fair. You let me sleep earlier while you got most of the food ready."

Sara reached around him, took two clean plates out of the cupboard, a couple of forks from a drawer and grabbed the cake bell from the counter. He gave her a look.

"What? This is seriously good cake and I'm still hungry." She dropped a quick kiss on his lips. "Don't be long," she said as she strutted off to the master bedroom with dessert.

Gil smiled. "Keep the garter on," he called after her. He was still hungry, too, but not for cake.

THE END

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A/N: Another story comes to an end. Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Vplas.


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